


Dim Lighting

by mothie



Category: Yume Nikki | Dream Diary
Genre: Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothie/pseuds/mothie
Summary: Some burnt bridges should be rebuilt. You don't think that's possible here.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't exactly a romantic fanfic; if that's what you're looking for, this probably isn't for you. Trigger warnings for depression, abandonment, suicide, and self-harm.  
> Also this is my first fanfic, so idk if you'll like it or not. Hopefully you do. c:  
> Criticism is very welcome!

You are tired. The room is dimly lit, causing you to fall deeper into your soporific state. You should really get up and eat something. Dinner time was hours ago, and yet here you are, staring at the wall for the third hour in a row. It wasn't always like this. Your depression has worsened in recent months. Your dearest friend, the single most important person in your life, got up and left. She'd held out for years, but your bad habits and mental instability gradually wore down on her. Now you've lost all traction, all direction.  
  
    Glasses line your once-clear desk, and snack wrappers occupy the space around your bed. This place has really become a stye, but you just can't find the motivation to clean it. Your room feels like a cell, and that's  just fine, for now.  
  
    Your eyelids have become heavy. What's even the point in staying awake, if it only makes you feel worse? You wonder. There is no point, not at the moment, you suppose, You close your eyes once more, and drift off into sleep.  
      
    The area you are in is familiar; you end up here every time you fall asleep. It's the same as your real-world balcony, but somewhat off. This version is always dark, and unsettling. You get the feeling you are being watched. You walk in through the sliding doors, and exit through the room door, gently shutting it behind you. The new space arround you is dark, but not so much that you cannot see. There are thirteen doors arranged in a circle, with the one you came through sitting slightly aways from the others. You are faced with the same decision every night: which one to go through? A better world for tonight, maybe. Somewhere that can ease the stress, if that's even possible.  
  
    You approach one of your favorites: a deep red door, with purple accents. You always feel relaxed where you're going, albeit some parts of the area are unsettling. Those can be easily avoided, though. Maybe you can feel better there. You turn the handle, and push.


	2. Chapter 2

Water pools around your feet. The air is warm, and it feels good to breathe. You step through, and the dizzy feeling hits you. switching worlds has always made you feel unwell, but you've never been able to pin down why. Maybe it's rough on your sleeping brain, or maybe it's just excitement. Either way. the dizzy spell ends, and you take a step. The door softly shuts itself behind you. You'll be here until you wake up, or until you find another passageway.

Street lamps dot the landscape, guiding you with their light. You spot your destination: a purple tunnel, far off in the distance. It'll take some time to get there, but that's fine with you. You like the atmosphere here. It's dark, and reminds you of the path to your special place. It's somewhere you and your dear friend would go; an escape from your dull reality. It was an abandoned shed that the two of you cleaned up, that turned out to be quite nice once the dust and cobwebs were gone. The two of you brought foldable chairs and some blankets once it was cleared out, and it quickly became your secret hideout. The only thing that mattered once you were inside the shed was her.

You approach the tunnel. It's cooler inside, and has a musty smell. It's a short tunnel, and quickly you are outside. A path lays in front of you. You start down the road, with no destination in mind. You never seem to make it far, before you wander off into the surrounding woods. Last time it was a black dog that led you off the path. The time before that, it was a voice, beckoning you.

You miss times like these, when you could just take a walk, free of any worries. The forests nearby your home are beautiful, and always put you into a pleasant sort of trance. Then the incident happened, and you cannot bring yourself to return to the woods. A body lay on the asphalt, and you were seemingly the first to witness it. You should have called the police, or at least reported it to _someone_ , but your mind went blank, and you ran. You didn't stop running until you made it home. It was on the news a few days later; a man was killed in a hit-and-run, and hadn't been found for several days.

You still feel guilt gnawing at you some days. You could've, should've, reported it, but instead you left his body there to rot, and left whoever loved him to worry. You stumble upon him in your dreams some nights. He is here now. A green, bloated body lies on the pavement ahead of you. Blood pools around him, mixing with rain water. His face seems quite pretty, beyond the rot. What a shame that he'd died so young.

You lay down nearby, parallel to him. Rain falls on your face, washing away your sense of self. The atmosphere is heavy, yet reassuring; you are not the body on the pavement. Your heart still beats, and you still breathe. It's not too late for you yet. You close your eyes, staying that way until conscious thought slips from your grasp. It is a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh;; I feel like this is coming out worse than I initially thought.. I have the first 3 parts so far, but I get the feeling they're all just as bad ;A; Hopefully I'm overthinking things...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this keeps getting off topic but the people that reviewed it say it's okay... Hopefully it's fine ^^"

You wake to the shrill beeping of the alarm clock. You harbor such hatred for it, and yet it's the only thing that can get you up; it is the play button to your life. If it were up to you, there would be no schedules, and no alarm clocks to enforce them. You'd love to sleep your life away. Reality is unrelenting, though, and there are consequences for ignoring it.

It's cold outside your covers, and you do not want to leave. The icy floor is a shock to warm skin, even through your socks. You walk over to the closet, and pull out your favorite outfit. It's composed of a warm color palette, and even warmer materials: a thick, red, thigh-length skirt, black knee-socks, and a pink turtleneck sweater. The sweater never leaves your possession; you wear it every day, taking care of it, and making sure it retains its cleanliness.

_She_ had bought it for you a few years back, as a birthday present. It bears a checkerboard pattern on the chest. You never knew what it was supposed to represent, and you hadn't thought to ask. It's the sentiment that matters, not the cloth itself.

You carry the bundle over to the bathroom, and start up the shower. You undress, and step in. The water is hot, just the way you like it. In the shower, there are no worries; there is no future, no past. There's only the now, and the running water.

You turn off the tap, and climb out of the tub. You re-enter your clothing, like an insect molting in reverse. They're always warm, like skin-tight blankets; they make you feel secure. You put your hair up in braids, not bothering to dry it. The finishing touch is some eyeliner, and you're ready to go.

You live in a small, run-down apartment complex nearby your school. It's cramped and musty, but it's home. Besides, it's not like you can afford anything else on your budget. It's only a short walk to the school building, taking about 20 minutes to get there. You could use your run-down car, but that requires gas, and you don't exactly have the coin for that.

You attend a typical senior high-school in a small mountain town. Not many people live here, and not many want to, which is perfectly fine with you. Less people, less anxieties. You don't have the best grades, but that likely won't complicate things too much. You plan on being an author, which only requires research, patience, and effort. As someone who dislikes reality, devoting your career to the unreal seems like the happiest course of action.

There's endless stories to tell; many of them stem from your dreams. You don't think you're actually that talented at writing, but others your peers always seem to be pouring compliments. Every work contains sentimentality; you spill emotions all over the pages. The main quality of your work is the mixing of the mundane with the surreal: stories of your everyday cookie-cutter people, and bizarre dimensions filled with the nothing but the fantastical. One day, hopefully, your stories will be recognized.


End file.
